I while away my life in stride,
It’s senseless to me and redundant:
Today, I’m soberly — triumphant,
Tomorrow, I will — sing and cry.
What if my death is getting nearer?
What if, behind me, stands a man,
Who, reaching with his massive hand,
Will block the image in the mirror?..
The mirrors’ light will flash, in turn,
I’ll shut my eyes, from fright,
And step into the coming night,
From which no one returns...
Я коротаю жизнь мою,
Мою безумную, глухую:
Сегодня — трезво торжествую,
А завтра — плачу и пою.
Но если гибель предстоит?
Но если за моей спиною
Тот — необъятною рукою
Покрывший зеркало — стоит?..
Блеснет в глаза зеркальный свет
И в ужасе, зажмуря очи,
Я отступлю в ту область ночи,
Откуда возвращенья нет...
«Of the cuckoo asked I boldly, / To discover when I’d die... / Pine trees’ tips were trembling coldly. / Yellow beam on grass did lie. / From the thicket there’s no answer... / I am bound for home, / Chilly breeze plays like a dancer / On my hot brow’s dome.»
«I do not ask of love; I do not sing of spring, / But listen to my song — for you alone I sing. Oh, judge it for yourself — for how on earth could I / Not lose all self-control when I this snow espy? An ordinary garden, just another day, / But why are all the bells alive in mad affray, ...»
«And briefly a joy was ignited, / I now was dejected and broke, / And now I was wandering benighted / Abodes in the dark and the smoke. And ardent for night’s inspiration / Laid low with my malady’s blight, / I met with another narration / Of lovely and radiant delight. Extinguished...»
«To me the whole world promised him: / The dusty scarlet heavens’ border, / At Christmas, gentle dreaming’s whim, / And Easter’s rowdy wind’s disorder, And vine’s red switches as they rise, / And waterfalls in summer gardens, / And two enormous dragonflies / On cast-iron fence,...»